Forbidden Passion
by Itarille Celebrindal
Summary: Series of Vignettes: Itarille had Seen the future and given her life for it. Glorfindel would give his life for her and live the future she Saw. IdrilGlorfindel, sort of fits into canon.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Not mine, but Tolkien's. The plot idea's mine though, my bunny!

* * *

He had been there for as long as she could remember. In her dreams, she had watched the grey-eyed peredhil grow from a young boy who somberly watched the sea to a proud, wise lord whose counsel was well sought.

She had never questioned his presence in her mind. He had been her friend when she had none, when she was surrounded by adults who never got along. As she grew, so did he; each step in life was accompanied by another dream until the visions became reality.

His existence depended on her. That much she knew. The future of Middle-Earth would hang in the balance until she made that crucial decision that would either ensure or condemn his birth. And she never regretted this knowledge, even though her own desires had to be put aside. The future was the future…and she would be content with what she was given. Content with the fact that good would come of her path in life.

She had given her life for his; denied herself love so that the grey-eyed elfling could live to read every book on Arda, so that he too could have his own family and make the choices that she herself had been denied.

The history books would mention naught but her contentedness in life. The boy would be her legacy.

* * *

Itarille had Seen the future and given her life for it.

Glorfindel would give his life for her and live the future she Saw.


	2. Revelations

"You love her."

It wasn't a question.

The golden haired elf glanced up in surprise, guilt written across his handsome features as the slender woman quietly seated herself beside him. For several long moments they sat in silence, watching a young elf maiden dance to a song that only she could hear. It wasn't until the elfling had wandered off that either of the couple spoke.

"Since the first night she danced," Glorfindel admitted softly, his blue eyes flickering up to meet those of his lover.

His companion only nodded, her wavy flaxen tresses shimmering in the sunlight. Pale pink lips pressed together in a fine line and they sat in silence once more. The daughter of Finarfin was not hurt by the admittance; both knew that their relationship was not born out of love, but of a simple need for the touch of another…a need for quiet acceptance and understanding.

"She's still very young, Glorfindel," she cautioned.

"Don't you think I've realised that, Artanis?" he replied, voice tinged with a warning tone.

She held her hands up in a soundless apology.

"You're a good elf, Glorfindel," she said, "but you shouldn't pine after a young girl for too long. Little Idril isn't going to be the type to settle down easily and you know that Turgon will be more than protective of his only child."

The lord of the Golden Flowers turned to look at his lover and in that moment they both knew that whatever they had had was gone. Never again would Artanis, Daughter of Finarfin and Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower hold such close counsel. He stood silently, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to Artanis's forehead, then walked away, his long strides carrying him into the distance until all that could be seen of the lord was the sunlight's glimmer off golden hair.

* * *

The little princess was mad, some said; though they shared this, wisely, behind closed doors and far from the ears of Turgon Son of Fingolfin. She was sometimes seen playing alone, but speaking as if a playmate were sitting alongside her. 

Glorfindel saw not madness, but a lonely little girl whose peers avoided her. His heart, had it not already been captured by the child with flaxen hair and cornflower blue eyes, would have been seized as he watched over Turgon's daughter as she played alone in the fields of Valinor, quietly carrying on a conversation with a boy who was not there.

"Who is your playmate, Idril?" he had asked once, moving through the tall grass to seat himself beside the elfling.

She looked up at him through eyes the colour of the summer sky and replied quite seriously in her youthful voice, "He is very shy, Lord Glorfindel. But his name is Elrond-Yet-To-Come."

All the girl's odd behaviour was suddenly explained in that one statement.

"Yet to come? What does that mean, pen-neth?" Glorfindel asked as he watched Idril gesture animatedly to the empty space beside her.

She looked up at him again and, waving to her invisible friend, crawled into the elf lord's lap to rest her head against his chest.

"He is yet to come," she repeated, her small arms twining around his waist as she leaned against him. "He has not yet seen the light of ithil…been birthed of a mother," she explained, her words far advanced for a girl of her youth.

"The others are afraid of it…the yet to come," Idril tugged on a slender braid of his golden hair, "Glorfindel, do you fear the yet to come?"

"Sometimes I fear what may happen to my loved ones if I am not there to protect them," he replied softly, looking down upon the crown of her head.

"Like your ada and naneth?" she asked innocently, little fingers toying with the sleeves of his robes.

"Like them…and others," Glorfindel affirmed with a distant smile, thinking of the fae child he held in his arms as he absently smoothed the flaxen silk of her hair.

She was not like the other elven children, this delicate vision of fine bones and fair features. Idril was different, older, but younger at the same time. A whirling maelstrom of contradictions that baffled even the most brilliant scholar and tugged insistently at his heartstrings. His little silverfoot was as fragile as porcelain, but somehow, Glorfindel knew that she might outlast even the hardiest Noldo…even if she couldn't last the day without a nap.

Smiling down at the angel in his arms, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and climbed gracefully to his feet, little Idril carefully ensconced in his embrace. He bore her home and set her upon her bed under the watchful eyes of Elenwe and Turgon. Careful to keep anything other than brotherly affection from his eyes, he bent over to brush a strand of golden hair from the little girl's brow, then straightened to incline his head to her parents and left.

* * *

Glorfindel wondered sometimes why it seemed that he was the only one to recognize Idril's foresight. His former lover knew, though Artanis never spoke of it. She limited their speech to simple greetings and well wishes; which was all the better for the elf lord, for he suspected that any prolonged exposure to the daughter of Finarfin might result in a long lecture regarding his constant attendance to her young cousin. 

It was hard to imagine himself as a caretaker, though he supposed he had appointed himself as such to the noldo princess. And it was not as if the child disliked his attentions. Rather she had attached herself to him, not in the usual hero-worship of elflings her age, but in a cool, matter-of-fact manner that seemed to reason that he was there and he understood…so why should she not accept his presence.

Elenwe had remarked to him at one point that it appeared he was doing the little one good. Her peers had begun to approach their 'odd,' but potential playmate. The Lord of the Golden Flowers was popular among the youth of Valinor, both for his beauty and for his easy manner with both the boys and the girls. For Itarille--for that is what they called her, not by the less formal Idril—to have garnered the attentions of such a great elf, the children believed to her to be worthy of their own attentions, no matter that she still, though less frequently, spoke to Elrond-Yet-To-Come.

Idril had learned, for the most part, that her Sight put others on edge. And, though she did not rein in her lifelong habits when in the presence of Glorfindel, it was obvious that she had begun to make an effort to do so when among others who were less understanding than the blonde lord.

It came as a surprise then, when he came upon her in the meadows and she was talking somberly to the empty space beside her. By now the delicate flushes of adolescence had graced her form. She carried herself not with the gangly movements of youth, but with the shocking calm of one who knew far more than she should. It was yet another sign that his Idril, his lirimaer, was not like her friends.

The words that left his lips were not unfamiliar to him. The memory of a conversation from years ago was flitting to the forefront of his mind. "Who are you talking to?" they echoed.

She looked up at him with the sweetly clear blue eyes that he so admired and answered him as patiently as if he were an elfling she had had to repeat herself to.

"You must ask, Glorfindel?"

"I speak with Elrond-Yet-To-Come," Idril said finally, her voice quiet.

"We will leave Valinor soon. It will be cold and I do not want to leave…but Ada insists and I must go for there are things I must do. There are things you will do as well, Glorfindel."

Her slender hands shifted to her knees as she peered up at him and he felt as if she could see into his soul, as if she could pierce the very veil that hid his true feelings towards the young girl he had played for so long ago. Glorfindel was bewildered by her words. He could not think of any reason to leave their lands on Valinor.

"Naneth loves me. She told me so last night," her bright eyes filled suddenly with tears, "I love her so, Glorfindel. Why must she leave?"

This time he truly was confused. Elenwe was at her home; it had been she who directed him to the field and Idril's location. Nonetheless he put his confusion aside and hesitantly drew her into his arms for a gentle hug. It got harder to do so each year. The more the golden haired princess grew, the harder it was to pretend that he cared for her no more than as a brother for a younger sister.

His simple touch was all the encouragement Idril needed as she threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. Soothingly he ran his fingers through the corn silk of her hair and murmured comfortingly to her. He was loathe to ask what she meant, for he had a sickening feeling that it was not something he would want to hear. Whatever it was would come to pass in time. For now he would do what he could to calm the tears of his beloved.

It was only when her diamond tears had subsided that Glorfindel chanced his question. Her reply, as expected, was not one that he had wished to hear.

"Naneth must leave us…But I do not wish her to leave, Glorfindel. I do not want her to leave me," Idril had said piteously. She straightened in his lap, long limbs suddenly proud. "What is yet to come you will see. Time will tell that which I do not."

The princess went silent for several moments before she looked up at him again, eyes suddenly clouding, her voice ominous.

"You will leave me too, Glorfindel…but worry not for you shall return and care for Him as you have cared for me."


	3. The Helcaraxe: Part One

Author's Notes:  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Tolkien's stuff, wish I did.  
  
In chapter two I mention Glorfindel loving her since the first time he saw her dance. That was sparked by a snippet from a fic called "Black, White, and Gold" by Shauna (Shauna1 on ff.net) in chapter six. The fic isn't centered on Idril, but she's mentioned and there's a short, beautifully written passage near the end of the chapter.  
  
Thanks to Evenstar Elanor and Squirrel on the Edge for their kind reviews. You were the first and are definitely motivating me to keep writing.  
  
Thanks as well to my muse, Elrond from Lothlorian RPG (yes, it is spelled wrong). Now give me back my brain cell.  
  
It was cold. He was colder than he had ever remembered being in his life; he couldn't imagine how the younger elves felt if even he, a hardened soldier, was slowly beginning to crumble under the strain. The long line of elves extended as far as he could see, led by Fingolfin and his sons with Artanis at their side.  
  
The Lord Glorfindel could barely make out the snow-whitened head of Lady Aredhel and it was only through recognizing her that he could find the frighteningly slender elf beside her. He frowned briefly, taking in the young lady's tiny form, covered though it was by mounds of furs and whatever else could be spared. She held the hands of two even younger elves, the children clinging to her long skirts.  
  
Quickening his stride, he drew even with Aredhel and spoke quietly with her. The pair slowed their pace until the young ones were out of hearing range, allowing them to speak freely.  
  
"How is she?" Glorfindel asked with some concern, his blue eyes lighting on the golden haired elf ahead of them.  
  
"She gives most of her food and furs to the young ones...and anyone else who has run low on food," Aredhel replied quietly, her dark eyes watching his face with interest.  
  
"Does she keep any for herself?" he questioned.  
  
"Very little...if she does at all. Her concern is for the others though. She seems resigned...too accepting," was the woman's reply.  
  
"She needs to be eating, else she'll get sick," Glorfindel whispered.  
  
"Neither her mother nor father have been successful in getting her to take her share. Perhaps a word from you may help?" Aredhel said coolly.  
  
The daughter of Fingolfin smiled smugly to herself as the blonde elf lord nodded absently, a distant look in his eyes. She had suspected for some time that he felt more for her niece than most thought, but she could not glean anything from Artanis except for an amused laugh and a wave of her hand.  
  
He excused himself from her presence, his muscles screaming in pain as he pressed forward.  
  
"My lady?" he asked as he drew near the three young elves.  
  
The tallest turned with a graceful movement, a gaunt face with lapis lazuli eyes peeking out from beneath a fur hood.  
  
"Glorfindel!" A smile curved lips blue with cold.  
  
She paused a moment to ask one of the other elves to keep an eye on the children, then turned back to the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. He took the time to really look at her. Her body was much too thin for its height, though at this point that was true for most of the elves on the journey, but what bothered him was the fact that he could easily discern her fines bones beneath her unnaturally pale skin.  
  
"Idril...are you all right?" he asked, taking her arm with a proper bow.  
  
The young princess turned her head to him, lips curving in a little smile.  
  
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Idril," Glorfindel's voice was suddenly stern, though there was no mistaking the deep concern laced behind his hard words, "You've been giving away your food...and your clothes. You must be freezing and starving."  
  
Her hood slipped back to reveal fine hair, hair that had once been the fresh colour of corn silk, but was now only a dulled gold dusted with snowflakes and ice. She shook her head at him, eyes brightly fierce as they glared at him from within her bony face.  
  
"They need the extra food, Glorfindel!" Idril began heatedly, "They're still so little!"  
  
He stopped them both, taking her shoulders in his hands and shaking her.  
  
"YOU'RE still little, Idril!" he said forcefully, "You need the food too," he continued, voice softening as the girl's eyes filled with tears.  
  
"I'm not little anymore," she tried to defend herself, standing straight.  
  
It was partly true, the noldo girl was hardly a child, but she was still only reaching the very first blushes of maidenhood, her figure gawky and long limbed. But she was still young, much younger than most of the adults that coveted their rations and shared nothing with the others.  
  
"Idril...promise me you'll take care of yourself?" Glorfindel asked quietly, looking at her with a gentle smile.  
  
She wiped away a stray tear and nodded sullenly, "I promise," she muttered.  
  
"That's my girl," he said, drawing her in for a hug.  
  
Idril wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing from him the warmth she so desperately needed in this cold. He held her for several moments, then released her.  
  
"Walk with an old elf?" he asked, blue eyes twinkling as he offered her his arm with a gallant bow.  
  
Long missed laughter escaped Idril's blue lips. She managed a curtsy worthy of a king despite the cold and laced her arm through his for the rest of the day's walk. It wouldn't be long as they could both see the front of the line beginning to slow and unload what little they had for the brief reprieve. Rations would be handed out and furs laid down so that the younger ones could rest.  
  
end part one... 


	4. Realisations

The princess stood on a balcony that overlooked the shining city of Ondolinde, its new turrets and ramparts gleaming white in the moonlight. Sunkissed locks framed a delicate face of elven beauty, blue eyes sharp within a pale oval of fine bones as they gazed out over the view. She frowned, a hand tightening on the blue silk of her gown, eyes darkening in concern as she stood guard over her new city. A circlet of mithril glittered on her brow, as new as the city before her.

"Princess?"

She turned at the call, brow wrinkling at the title used, though she sighed as if in resignation.

"Yes?" she replied, blue eyes searching the darkness for the speaker.

"Just me, Princess," came the voice again as a tall, lithe figure stepped into the moonlight.

She visibly relaxed, letting go of her gown to smile softly, "Glorfindel," she breathed.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Idril?"

"Should not the lady of such a fine city be deserving of a title to equal it?" the elf lord asked, joining her at the railing with a wry smile, his own blue eyes sparkling gently.

"You flatter me too much," Idril replied, brushing aside a lock of cornsilk hair.

The golden haired elves stood quietly, gazing out over the buildings and walls surrounding the city in silence, their blue eyes looking anywhere but at each other.

"It worries me…To build such a grandiose city is to invite trouble," she murmured after a moment, looking up at the elf at her side.

He gave her a concerned look, having known her long enough to realise that her feelings were worth listening to. She looked distraught and so he stepped to her, drawing her into a warm embrace, his arms slipping easily about her slender waist.

She simply stood within the circle of his arms, taking deep, even breaths, then slowly her arms moved to curl around his torso, tucking her head against his chest as she closed her eyes.

Glorfindel was suddenly and vividly aware of the slender curves pressed against him, a far cry from the lanky, skinny body he had held so often before. The golden haired nymph had grown up while he had been supervising the construction of the city and the safety of the people. He abruptly regretted not spending as much time with her since then; she had obviously been distracted all the while by her visions, as she had been as a child.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at the crown of her fair head, his arms squeezing her gently.

He could feel her frown against his chest before she looked up, "For what, Glorfindel?" she asked, voice innocent.

"For not spending time with you since we arrived…" he said somberly, watching her with a strange light in his eyes.

"You've been busy, Glorfindel, I know that. It's not your job to spend every moment with me," Idril replied easily, her eyes meeting his own and searching them.

"But I'd like to…"

The words escaped his lips before he could reign them in, her blue eyes widening, then sharpening with sudden clarity as she processed what he had said. Her arms were still looped around his torso and she was startlingly aware of their proximity, of the feel and smell of his presence that she had always taken for granted.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared wordlessly at him, eyes locked with his own. Then, suddenly, his arms tightened possessively about her waist and his lips descended upon hers, brushing them once, gently, the touch sparking with electricity.

He pulled away then, ducking his head as if in apology, two bright circles of colour burning on his cheeks.

The image of a small boy, dark haired and spritely with intelligent eyes of quicksilver grey, flashed before Idril's eyes, his own pleading with hers. She closed hers for a moment, the image banished from her mind, then she drew her hands to Glorfindel's face, framing the proud, handsome features.

She caught his gaze once more, then drew his lips to her own, pressing them together with a searing heat that flared at every point of contact between them. She pressed herself to him, slender curves against toned muscle, until they were one golden flame in the moonlight high above a city that would become legend.

Glorfindel broke away for air, blue eyes scanning her face with concern. He grasped her waist in his hands, almost unable to comprehend what had happened. She shushed him though with a finger to his lips and drew herself again to him.

She was still young, he had to remind himself, though the curves of a maidenhood fully blossomed filled his hands as he held her. And now she was the Lady of a great city, untouchable by all who would dare desire such a treasure. The Princess of Ondolinde, as pure as the driven snow that touched the peaks of the mountains that marked the valley. And yet he could not keep his body from responding to her presence, to the delicate beauty that he held in his arms and looked at him with such adoration.

He had loved her for many years, but was content to wait, watching as she grew from an awkwardly quiet child to the lovely woman before him.

Pressing his face to the crown of curls atop her head, he inhaled deeply, taking in the scent that was Itarille, his Idril.

Glorfindel was almost afraid when she pulled her head from his chest, blue eyes rising to his own. Would she leave him? There were many men inside, enjoying the ball, who would be more than happy to play escort to their liege lady.

"Since when?" Idril asked softly as she nibbled nervously on her lower lip, looking almost as if she were still a young girl and not an adult.

He watched her for several moments, blue eyes searching her face for any sign of malice. But he was fooling himself…she had never seen him in any light but that of adoration and there would be no sign of ill will towards him, only the glow of her own eyes, a dark sapphire in the moonlight.

"The night you were Named Celebrindal," he whispered, eyes big in the darkness, "You were a little girl and everyone was dancing…and then you got up and danced until only I could keep up the music for you. It was then that I knew…of all the women I would see and meet….you would be the only one I would love."

A breath caught in Idril's throat as she watched him, listened to his words. Hands caught at his embroidered tunic and pressed her head to his chest, a single tear tracing its way down her cheek to disappear into the thick cloth.

They stood like that for several moments longer, the only sound that of the music filtering out onto the balcony they had claimed for privacy. Not even the thrum of conversation could reach their ears as they held to one of the only stables anchors they had in their lives.

Finally, her equilibrium regained, she lifted a pale face to look at him and took a calming breath.

"Kiss me…" she whispered, smoothing the hands that rested on his chest.

He blinked at her in confusion until her words sank in and then a slow smile curved his lips. Lifting a hand, he slid it along her jaw, cupping her face.

"As you wish, my princess," Glorfindel replied, a joyful laugh escaping his lips as he bent his head to hers and swept his lips against her own in a brush of contact.

Pulling away, he smiled again, then took her lips as he crushed her to him, fire flowing through his veins as he deepened the kiss, exploring the velvet depths of her mouth with a passion newly released.

Idril had been kissed before, when she was younger and they had all giggled about the adult actions, but never like this. A warm sweetness spread from his mouth, his touch, igniting within her an hitherto undiscovered passion.

"Idril!"

The couple sprang apart, cheeks burning at the thought of having been caught. But as they looked around, they saw no one, only the shadow of a figure moving towards the door from the ballroom, blissfully unaware of what he had interrupted. Breathing sighs of relief, the two shared another brief kiss and then Glorfindel ducked off into the shadows, blue eyes carefully watching the slim figure of the princess.

"Running away from your own party, my lady?" the voice asked as its owner slipped through the door.

"You know me, Voronwe," Idril said, cheeks still lightly stained, though she laughed merrily. "Any excuse to avoid people and I take it."

The dark haired elf flashed her a toothy grin, bowing comically in front of her. "Well, your father sent me to collect you. I think he needs to show off his precious treasure…again." He rolled his eyes, "I still haven't figured out who this treasure is though…it can't possibly be you."

The princess stuck her tongue out at him childishly, then laughed, accepting the proffered arm. Voronwe guided his friend back towards the ball…and never even noticed when Glorfindel slipped from the shadows to watch them inside or when Idril turned to send him one last burning glance before the door shuft behind her.


	5. Escape

Glorfindel looked up from his papers as a soft knock sounded on his door. A quick glance at the moon outside told him who it was, for only one person would call on him at such a late hour. Rising from his desk, he moved to the door, opening it to allow the slender figure standing on the other side to slip quietly into his home.

As he closed the door, elegant hands appeared from under the cloak, reaching up to push back its hood. Hair as golden as his own tumbled free of its confines, framing eyes of a midsummer's blue set in a pale oval of fine bones. The elf lord smiled gently at his visitor, the gesture fading into concern as he noted the tight lines of her face and the shimmering circlet that winked at him from her brow.

Frowning, he stepped forward to lift the cloak from her shoulders, hanging it haphazardly on a chair, his work, as was wont with her, forgotten. Guiding her to a seat, Glorfindel removed the offending headpiece and set it upon the table.

"What is wrong, meleth-nin?" he asked, his velvet voice caressing the silence of the night as he took her hands in his ,pressing a chaste kiss to the back of each. The action elicited a small smile from his guest as she loosened the neck of the silk robe she wore. "My cousin frightens me," she admitted after a moment of silence, bright eyes searching his face. "The way he looks at me is not that of a cousin."

Glorfindel nodded, having suspected as much. From the first moment Maeglin had set foot in Ondolinde, he had coveted the city's fair princess most possessively, with lust filled eyes. It was a look that did little to please the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Though while he wished he could threaten off the young princeling, he knew they stood on precarious footing as it was. If news of his dalliance with the Princess Itarille were to become public, it stood the risk of destroying whatever future lie ahead.

So instead he pulled the princess to her feet, slipping his arms about her slim waist and drawing her into a tight embrace, burying his face in the silken cascade of her flaxen hair. Breathing in her sweet scent, he pulled back long enough to press a loving kiss to her brow.

"No worries, meleth, he dare not try anything. You are too well loved in our city…and your father would throw a fit," the elf lord said, a small smile touching his features as the lines of her face relaxed. She nodded, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and drinking in his solid presence. He never failed to make her feel better and more secure. He had provided support even when she had been but a child, frightened of her visions and the future they bespoke.

They stood like that for several moments, hair flickering in the candlelight like twin golden flames, until he finally felt her relax into his embrace. Smiling, he released her, his strong hands deftly loosing the ties on her robe until the pale blue silk fell to the floor. "Come to bed, Idril," he murmured, voice softly husky, "get some rest."

Stepping away from the robe, she nodded, pressing a brief, but thankful kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hand catching fast to his. The princess in her allowed him to lead the way, the cloth of her night shift whispering against her ankles as she moved. He paused before they reached the bed, an enormous mahogany creation cushioned in rich blue and gold silks, and released her hand. Swiftly, he pulled his tunic over his head, discarding it on the floor as appraising blue eyes lit upon the rpipling tones of his chest, the smooth skin above his breeches.

Glorfindel gave Idril a lusty wink, his blue eyes twinkling as they returned the favour, her slender figure silhouetted against the light, smooth curves of breast and hip only obscured by the thin silk of her night shift. The sight of her never failed to take his breath away. He approached her, throat dry, and gently took her lips with his own, his hands ghosting down the outside curve of her breasts to sit possessively at her waist.

These stolen moments were theirs, the only ones allowed them, and no one was around to interfere as eyes darkened and his hand pushed the straps of silk aside, revealing satin, golden skin, as he pressed his lips to each inch as it was revealed until the whole of the garment slid to the ground.

No one was around to hear the silent whisper of skin against skin as his breeches feel to join the shift and he pulled her against him, their heat blazing around them in a fiery rush of passion.

Nobody was there to hear the quiet murmur of voices as she pulled him back to the bed, sliding her nude form beneath the sheets and his atop hers.

And no one could hear the words that filtered through their thoughts, but left unspoken, "I love you," at their coupling. Not even them.

And her worries of before were left, like his work and their clothes, forgotten as they lost themselves in the one place they could be together, in each other.


	6. The End of the Beginning

There was very little that could rouse Glorfindel from a deep sleep, however, one of those few moments had chosen that morning to make itself apparent. With a low groan, he forced open his eyes and cocked an ear to the door and the incessant pounding upon it that had so rudely interrupted his slumber. Careful not to disturb his golden haired companion, he untangled himself from her long limbs and rose up on his elbows.

"Glorfindel! You had better be up and decent; I'm coming in if you do not answer this door!"

He shot upright, blue eyes wide. Ecthelion would have no qualms about barging in on his best friend and that was the last thing Glorfindel needed, to be caught with the princess in his bed. It did, however, serve as a reminder that though Idril has managed to slip out unnoticed the night before, she would soon be missed if she did not make an appearance in the court. Cursing to himself as the pounding continued, he leaned over and stole a kiss from the woman beside him. Sapphire eyes blinked open slowly with a soft sigh, then sharpened with clarity as the din at the door reached sleepy ears.

"What on Arda is that noise?" Idril murmured, sitting up in bed, his golden sheets slipping to her lap, baring her torso to his appreciative eyes. It took a moment before he tore his gaze from her and answered, "Ecthelion," he replied with a grimace. She understood immediately and moved from the bed, intent on her clothing.

"Valar, Glor, you're slower than a Balrog today!" Ecthelion shouted. The pair could hear the squeak of the door as he pushed it open and Glorfindel found himself thanking Elbereth that he had not taken the time to fix the hinges.

Throwing a blanket at the still nude princess, he gestured towards the closet in alarm. She nodded and ducked swiftly into its confines, the cloth clutched above her breast as the door closed upon her. Nary a second later, the door to the bedroom flew open, presenting the indignant Lord Ecthelion, his dark hair loose about an amused face.

"Hiding a lover from me, Glorfindel?" he asked jokingly, unperturbed by his friend's state of undress.

Chuckling uneasily, twin spots of colour gracing his cheeks, Glorfindel shook his head and discreetly kicked Idril's robe beneath his bed. "From you? Never!" he laughed, sliding a tunic over his head and breeches over his hips. "Now what on Arda is so important that you interrupted my beauty sleep?"

A snort sounded from the closet, spurring the elf lord into putting an arm around his friend and steering him out of the room, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Honestly, Glorfindel, you would think that you were hiding the princess in there!" Ecthelion said, rolling green eyes, completely oblivious to the look of terror that washed over his friend's face. "Though that would please Turgon to no end. I still do not know why you do not request his permission to court her. Eru knows you have spent enough time torturing yourself over it," he finished, eyes dark with concern.

The golden haired elf lord was well on his way to panic, a greenish tinge lighting his cheeks as he offered his friend a smile, "Idril does not see me in that light, Ecthelion," he said simply and with a shrug.

Ecthelion shook his head exasperatedly, not knowing that even as they spoke, the flaxen haired topic of their conversation was dressing and slipping out of the window in the bedroom. "I will never understand you, Glor," he said with amusement. "However, a mortal has been sighted entering the valley. A small party of guards has already ridden out, but His Majesty requests that we join them as soon as possible."

Raising an eyebrow with interest, Glorfindel nodded, pulling up his boots before reaching for a hair tie to tame his golden locks. "A man?" he asked again, just to be sure. His friend nodded and opened the door. The blonde lord spared a glance back at his bedroom door, hoping the princess had had ample time to escape, then followed Ecthelion into the sunlight.

* * *

He didn't see her again until that evening when they presented the mortal, Tuor Son of Huor. But then it was not his Idril, but the Princess Itarille, resplendent in ice blue silks and diamond coronet that twinkled in the light of the torches as she stood silently beside her imposing father. She was a vision of ethereal beauty and the fact escaped neither him nor the mortal beside him, if the look of awe upon Tuor's face was anything to judge.

"My lord," Glorfindel began with a bow to Turgon, "my lady," he graced the princess with a more gallant gesture that set her blue eyes alight with humour, "I present to you the Lord Tuor, Son of Huor, who comes to us with tidings from Ulmo himself."

Turgon examined the human with dark, impassive eyes, the commanding king leaving his daughter to step forward to speak in acknowledgement of the man. She inclined her head to him, speaking in silvery tones that echoed through the grand hall, "We welcome you to Ondolinde, Tuor Son of Huor, and we hope your stay is most pleasant."

Perhaps the elven city had been too imposing, or he was far too taken with the princess to think clearly, but the man could only nod dumbly, gray-green eyes wide and unblinking as they focused upon the blonde vision before him. Glorfindel hid a smile and placed a friendly hand upon his back, "It would, perhaps, be wise to bow," he advised him softly.

Tuor did as asked, albeit clumsily, then resumed his awed stare, feeling awkward and out of place in such grand company. The elf lord felt rather sorry for the likeable young man and had been ready to guide him out when he caught the look of pity in Idril's eyes.

He would recall later the almost palpable change in the air when she had stepped from the dais, friendly eyes twinkling once at him before focusing on the blonde mortal. His heart dropped into his stomach and Glorfindel felt suddenly, violently ill.

It wasn't until the princess had grasped Tuor's hand though that he truly felt awful, a pain stabbing through his heart with the thin edge of a razor as a look of shock crossed her pretty features and Itarille abruptly melted away, leaving only Idril in her place, the woman who needed not the accoutrements and grandeur of court that Itarille so easily wore.

The look of astonishment so quickly fled her face that Glorfindel was sure he was the only one to see it. He could not, however, discern her next words, his sense drowned out by the pounding of his own heart, sounding some doom-filled prophetic chorus that did little to settle his now tattered nerves.

"Come, my lord, let me show you to our guest quarters," Idril had said , voice gently coaxing and betraying not the nervous cacophony of her own heart.

Looking thoroughly enchanted, Tuor nodded, just barely managing to remember to offer her his arm, though he nearly stumbled at the stunning smile of thanks she sent his way. He was quite sure she was the most beautiful woman he had even seen, though that was a common reaction amongst mortals meeting their first Eldar. But his veins filled with liquid heat as she took his arm and he was suddenly hard pressed to keep the image of her without the courtly finery from his mind, two spots of colour burning brightly upon his cheekbones.

Idril wondered briefly at his embarrassment, but pushed the thought from her mind, needing full concentration to ignore the sudden desire to throw herself into Glorfindel's arms and never let go. The vice like clenching of her heart left her feeling mildly ill and only somewhat soothed by the pleasant warmth of the man's touch, though it paled in comparison to the raw, scalding heat of even just Glorfindel's gaze burning into her back. She blinked back tears as she let Tuor lead her through the door, mindlessly directing him as a child's laughter echoed through the empty hallways. A grey eyed boy, hair as dark as her father's, beamed up at her from the floor. He played for a moment, then rose to his feet and was joined by a mirror image of himself. They clasped hands and walked away from the couple, the first boy aging with each step, the second fading away until a grown man paused, then turned to look back at her. His eyes were the shattered windows of pain, but he smiled sadly, thankfully, at her and she could hear his voice, strong and wise, in her mind, "Thank you."

She choked back a sob, pressing her lips together as she showed her home to Tuor, then closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she thought bleakly, heart splitting in two. But the break would mend and she walked on, hand on the arm of Tuor Son of Huor. Father of her children.

As the door clanged shut behind the duo, Glorfindel felt his own heart seize. The sound reverberated through his mind, as final as he knew the event to be. He mustered a smile and left through another door, his heart bleeding pain within. "I love you."


	7. Impossible

Idril tossed and turned in her sleep, skin drawn tightly about elegant features as her mind was caught by a vision. Lips twisting into a grimace, she fought it briefly, then dreamed.

"Nana! Nana!"

She looked up from a book, a beautiful smile turning her lips upward. The yelling continued as footsteps thundered outside the door, announcing the speakers' arrival. Kneeling, she managed to catch both hurtling figures as they flew at her, clasping them to her breast with loving care.

They were both as golden as the sun, silken hair tumbling wildly about childish features and framing eyes of a fathomless blue that echoed the sky outside. The little girl threw her arms around her neck and clung tightly while the little boy hugged her briefly, then wriggled impatiently to be let go.

"I helped Adar shoot a deer for dinner, Naneth!" he exclaimed, drawing back and presenting himself for due praise.

Idril smiled indulgently and looked to the little girl, "Did he, Aarien?" she asked, winking at her.

Aarien nodded imperiously, "He did. But he almost scared it away! Glorinar must learn to be more quiet."

Glorinar shot her a dirty look and wrapped his arms around his naneth.

"I did not! Aarien is telling stories, Naneth. I was good and quiet like Adar told me!"

She hugged them to her again before they could begin squabbling, pressing her face in turn to the tops of their golden heads. Aptly named they were, Sunmaiden and Golden Fire, as brightly maned and eyed as their parents and twice the handful. Full Vanyarin they looked, though twins did not run in Vanyarin blood lines, even fraternal twins such as Aarien and Glorinar.

"And where is this deer that you brought for dinner, Glor?" Idril asked, setting him back from her with a twinkle in her eye, "I don't see it. Or was it an invisible deer?"

Glorinar gave her a haughty look, "Aarien tells the stories, Nana, not me. Adar has the deer…I could not yet carry it."

"He tried though!" a chuckle came from the door as a figured appeared, framed by the doorway.

"Adar!" Aarien cried gleefully, jumping up and throwing herself into his arms for a hug and a kiss.

She was caught easily and set down as her mother released Glorinar and approached her husband, a loving smile gracing her features. He returned the smile and clasped her waist in his hands, drawing her near for a careful kiss, her hands slipping up to twine in his lengths of sunsilk hair. The children squealed their disgust at the action.

"I hear you are terrorizing the local deer with your rugrats," Idril said, eyes smiling joyously, "I thought we'd been over that already, Glorfindel, they did nothing to you."

A laugh, full bodied and rich, escaped his throat and he lifted her in his arms before placing her back on the ground and claiming her lips again.

"Ah, but they are yours too, my love," he said, winking lazily at her.

The last thing she saw was that blue eye, rimmed in luxurious dark lashes, as it winked at her. Her vision drew her out of the house and across the waters to a land that lay dark and destroyed, overrun with orcs and Uruk-hai. Where small pockets of living people fought for freedom, only to be slaughtered mercilessly.

The horrors were abound and everywhere, reaching for her and laughing.

"Thank you ever so much, my dear," whispered a wickedly happy voice.

Idril sat up with a gasp of fright, bathed in a cold sweat, her blue eyes wide and large against her skin.

A glance to the moon told her it had been but a dream.

Childish giggles echoed in her mind, a pair of twin golden heads. Echoes of 'Naneth.'

Just a dream.


	8. And So He Cried

"Why have you come before me?"

Turgon's voice rang throughout the grand hall, its rich timbre both commanding and gentle at the same time, his dark eyes regarding carefully the mortal man that kneeled at his feet.

"I come before you, Turgon King, to prove my worthiness in seeking the hand of your daughter, Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess Itarille Celebrindal, to be bound in the eyes of the Valar."

Glorfindel stood impassively as the man spoke, the glint of sunlight off of his blonde head visible even to the elf lord hidden in the shadows at the rear of the hall. He noted absently the elegant garments that sat easily over the broad shoulders, the cloth of a make far above the man's status, but gracing his form nonetheless as what seemed to be the whole of Ondolinde watched from behind.

"Your request is noted, Tuor Son of Huor of the Race of Men. For what reason should I allow you the hand of my daughter?"

These were just the formalities as the original permission had been granted days ago to allow for the preparations of the ceremony, but Tuor looked every bit as serious and cowed as the Lord of the Flowers imagined he had been the first time. But still, the man raised grey-blue eyes to the king and spoke loudly, voice firm. "I love her."

There was no delicate wording or passionate declarations, simply the one sentence the man had uttered, eyes wide and honest. The High King of the Noldor regarded him silently for several moments, the silence in the hall almost palpable as the guests waited with bated breath his response.

"Is there anyone who would speak for the honour of this man?"

The dark haired elf in the front row took the cue to step forward, raising stormy grey eyes to his king as he bowed before stepping onto the dais and resting a hand on Tuor's curved shoulder.

"I am Voronwe Aranwion and I speak for the honour of this Son of Man. Tuor is strong of heart, body, and mind and will make a match for your spitfire of a daughter."

The king's lips curved briefly as he raised a single dark brow at the elf, eyes as dark as his hair glittering with amusement. There were few who could say such things with impunity, but Voronwe, a childhood playmate of the princess, was counted among them. The comment too had released some of the tension in the room as the king nodded.

"Tuor Son of Huor, Stand firm and proud, for I judge you worthy of my daughter's hand," he gestured for him to rise.

Glorfindel stiffened and pressed himself back into the shadows as the golden haired youth stood and was joined by Voronwe to the left of the king, both turning to the solid doors that slowly opened to the hall, brilliant sunlight pouring in as the barrier was removed. He closed his eyes for a moment, hands flexing and releasing his own tension as he finally dared to look to the path that had cleared through the center of the room.

A vision of white and gold flowed across the floor, supported on her right by Ecthelion, the Lord of the Fountain dressed too in gold, but accenting a dark green that complemented his eyes and rich, dark hair. Glorfindel dismissed him after the first glance, however, his eyes focusing on the figure at his side. He forgot to breathe as blue eyes took in the slender, proud figure with hair so golden that it shone almost painfully in the sunlight. White silks flowed flawlessly over slim curves, the gold trimmings accenting pale honeyed skin and turning lapis eyes to a burning sapphire.

Those eyes, however beautiful, were focused not on him, but at the mortal man upon the dais. The Lord of the Golden Flowers felt his stomach wrench at the irony, that something so exquisitely beautiful could make him want to die. It was supposed to have been his job, to escort the Crown Princess to her intended, but both he and Idril knew that he could not bear such a duty and hadn't been so cruel as to ask it of him. As such, he had been replaced by his best friend, the Lord Ecthelion. His hands clenched fitfully as the pair finished the walk to the dais and she was handed off to Tuor, a serene love glowing from her eyes as they took their place before Turgon.

The king began to speak, but Glorfindel could hear nothing, all other sounds drowned out by deafening pounding of his heart as is threatened to break free of his chest. He drew in a shaky breath, watching as Turgon wound a white silk ribbon about Tuor and Idril's clasped hands, no doubt speaking the ceremony of binding they all knew by heart. His blue eyes remained on the pair, blinking not though tears first glimmered, then dropped slowly from the orbs, their intensity the only sign of the pain wracking his heart and mind.

He stood silently, his heart wrenching in two as the ceremony was finished, the cheers echoing around him sounding not at all unlike the toll of his death bell, the figures ahead blurred by the tears in his eyes. The newly bound pair paused to kiss and Glorfindel knew he could take no more. With a final, agonized glance at the ethereal figure that had so captivated him, he fled the hall to seek solace in a solitary ride and his prize stallion.

After what seemed like hours of riding, he stopped and threw himself beneath the shade of a large tree and let the emotions that he had been holding back flow freely. Shudders tore at his lithe form as tears pathed over his cheeks, leaving glittering diamond trails across his cheeks. His heart hurt so intensely that he feared it would stop beating.

Though he had known it was not meant to be from the start, he had not been able to help the shock he felt when she had come to him that evening, her own blue eyes dark with some unreadable emotion as they sought out his. They were to be married, she told him, holding his hand gently between warm palms. The blood had rushed from his face and his equilibrium threatened the same as he desperately searched her face for any sign that she had been joking.

'We must live the lives the Valar have given us, Glorfindel,' she had spoken softly, raising a hand to cup his cheek as her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

His name on her lips had been his undoing and he had fled from her, just as he had today, unable to face either thought or sight of her in any man's arms but his.

So he sat in the shade, tears coursing down his cheeks as the city of Ondolinde, unknowing of the love that had been condemned that day, congratulated their princess and her new prince, the Lord of the Golden Flowers forgotten in their revelry.

And so he cried.


	9. Omen

There was only so much of the newlyweds' happiness that Glorfindel could take and as such, he found himself riding out of the Hidden Valley with a pack big enough to last him over a month outside of its boundaries. Seeing the love in cerulean eyes that had once shown for him had driven him to visit an old friend and seek solace in her company, not for any romantic reason, but because she of all people knew how he felt.

It felt to him sooner rather than later that he rode into the lands of Doriath, a marchwarden accompanying the Vanyarin lord to Halls of Thingol where his quarry resided. He was duly announced and after trading royal niceties with the King and his wife, Melian, was allowed to seek her out.

She was seated beside a delicately crafted fountain, an elegant hand trailing through the water as she stared off into the distance.

"Welcome to Doriath," she murmured absently and without turning to face him as he entered the small courtyard.

"Hello Artanis," Glorfindel replied equally as softly, venturing forward to join her on the stone bench, mindlessly brushing aside the white cloth of her robe to make room for his body. He was barely able to withhold his flinch as she raised glittering pale blue eyes to his face, eyes set in a face that was reminiscent enough of the one sought to avoid that a pain lanced through his heart.

"My Cousin has married the human and found a happiness," the elven woman said simply, examining his face with her intense eyes. He nodded, unable to do much more than murmur in a pained voice, "I still love her. Valar, but it hurts, Artanis. I do not know what to do."

She smiled sadly and brushed her fingers over his cheek, the touch faintly lingering with her pity. "Your paths have never been your own, Glorfindel. The Valar have had their hands on you since her birth, at the very least."

They sat silently then, enjoying each other's company in the quiet of the garden, the only sound the gentle splashing of the fountain beside them.

The solace did him good and provided ample opportunity to calm his raging heart and distract him from the thoughts that sought to plague him. It wasn't long, however, before Artanis, as golden and wise-eyed as ever, had laid a hand on his shoulder, her blue eyes searching his own as she spoke.

"It is past time for you to return, Glorfindel," she said calmly; though she shared the colouring of her cousin, she used not any nicknames for those around her and his heart ached at the thought that he would no longer hear any endearments from the line of Finwe.

"I know," he sighed, turning away from her pressing gaze to look at his feet. The heavy weight of her palm on his shoulder though spurred him into movement and he mechanically packed his bags until he was prepared to return to the city.

The elf lord had mounted his horse when a familiar hand reached up, grasping his own in a vise-like grip.

"Do you love her, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flowers?" The voice was haunting and not entirely her own.

He stared down at her, confusion bleeding swiftly from his lapis eyes. This was important. He knew. "I do," he whispered, staring at her intensely.

"Would you die for her?"

"In a heartbeat," he answered without hesitation, the woman in front of him melting into softer curves, brighter hair, and darker eyes…skin more honeyed with life and a smile that burned into his bones.

"The time will come when you will be called upon to do just such a thing, my friend," the ethereality of her tone had been swept away by friendly concern and she gave his hand a tight squeeze as a single tear slipped from her eyes.

She had to have given his horse a signal because as she stepped away, his mount sprang into a gallop, leaving behind the city of Doriath in a cascade of dust. He was going home.


	10. Keep It Secret Keep It Safe

The knock came late at night, but the time when he would have known immediately who stood at his door was long gone. With a soft sigh, Glorfindel put down his pen and climbed to his feet, ignoring the long creases his breeches had adopted while he sat at the table. He had not been expecting anyone that evening and as such, his home was a mess and his hair left loose and free about his features, tangling about the aristocratic definitions of his face and the solid planes of his shoulders.

"I'm coming," he called out, kicking his boots beneath the table before shaking his head at the futility of straightening up. Another sigh left his lips and he moved to the door, slender hands wrenching it open with the hint of exasperation that laced his bones. The person behind it, however, was one he had not expected. The elf lord blinked once at her, his heart almost stopping as he took in the slender figure.

"Idril?" Glorfindel questioned in shock, both at her unexpected appearance and at her state of dress. It was painfully hard to take in the rounded curves that motherhood had graced her with, the full breasts and gently sloping hips that he had once known intimately.

Her lapis eyes looked up at him with worry from beneath sooty lashes and she slipped inside without invitation. He would have spoken then, but the look on her face silenced him until he had closed the door and pulled out a chair for her to take her seat. Glorfindel moved without thought to prepare a glass of her favourite wine, a blend that wasn't particularly his own choice, but that he had grown so used to that he enjoyed it more as a memory of their time together than anything else.

Setting the goblet in front of her, he merely smiled at her surprised, but appreciative hooded glance and took his seat across from her, focusing concerned eyes on his liege lady. "What troubles you, mellon?" he asked softly, searching her face for any hints as to why she had come. Neither mentioned the many other times she had come to him during the night, times when the word 'mellon' was furthest from their minds.

"I need your help, Glorfindel," Idril spoke, her eyes examining his reaction to the question. For so long had they avoided each other, avoided their past, that she was almost afraid that he would not deign to help her. Her fear was for naught though, for he simply moved to take her hands in his.

"What is wrong, Idril?"

His hands tingled at the touch and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to jerk them from their place and shut himself away from the pain her presence often brought. But he could tell by looking in her eyes that whatever had brought her to him on this night, to leave her husband and young son alone, was more important than either of them. Glorfindel indulged a secret moment of satisfaction that she had come to him and not her husband with her fears.

"The City will Fall, Glorfindel," she whispered, her cornflower blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "I told you once that to build such a grand city was to invite destruction and it will finally come to us and not everyone will escape its wrath."

Her hands tightened within his, "We need a way to escape to the mountains, 'findel. We will be betrayed by one among us and we need a way to free those who will survive the downfall of Ondolinde."

Sensing the gravity of her request, he nodded and squeezed her hands gently. "A tunnel then. It is the only way to escape the city without being seen. But do we have the time for such a feat?" he asked her, almost afraid to hear the answer.

His fears were unfounded though as she nodded absently, her long fingers caressing his hands for the comfort she needed but could not seek from him or her husband, for Tuor would not understand the need for secrecy, nor did he command enough power to achieve such a feat. "We will have the time we need, but no more. It must be done."

Glorfindel nodded, "Then it will be done, Idril. Fear not, for I will ensure that all haste is taken in this endeavor. But you must return to your…" He was, for a moment, unable to finish the sentence, pain flaring briefly in his bright eyes, "husband and son…before they wake to find you missing and dressed only in your night robes."

Idril was quiet for a long moment as she studied the table between them. Finally she raised her eyes to his own, their depths solemnly sincere. "I love him, Glorfindel, I truly do. He is a good man and it is thanks to him that I have my Earendil, my Little Star."

"I know," he whispered, rising from his seat to escort her to the door. "Our lives are not our own and you have found happiness in your life."

Though his heart struggled to say the words with seeming approval, he mustered a smile for her as he opened the door to allow her to step through. The moonlight glinted off of her pale hair, turning her slim figure to a beam of light beneath the dark sky as she turned about to face him.

"You must move on, Glorfindel. I cannot bear to see you so," she murmured, fingers tracing the faint lines of his cheek as sorrow glimmered in her eyes. He nodded though, removing her hand from his face as he spoke, "I know, mellon."

Idril smiled sadly then and tilted her head upwards to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. Flames burned his skin at her touch, but neither spoke of it, instead content to stand across from either other and watch. Finally, as if she had found what she had been seeking, the elven princess nodded to herself and turned half away from him.

"Keep it secret. Keep it safe," she whispered, her words echoing in his mind as she slipped into the darkness and towards the grand home Turgon had built for his daughter and her new family.

* * *

Author's Notes:

So I realized that I've mostly been doing everything from a Glorfindel point of view, though in third person. So I'm going to try to make an attempt to channel Idril in the next installment of this series. Wish me luck!


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